


One Advantage of a Bed

by AconiteandAbsinthe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:01:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AconiteandAbsinthe/pseuds/AconiteandAbsinthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His bedroom was boring and ordinary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Advantage of a Bed

He didn't sleep very much. There were too many things to be thought and too many experiments to conduct and too many games to be played. So he often went days with nothing more than short naps at his workstation. On the occasion that he did want a full night sleep, he was determined not to be mundane. For this reason, Sherlock very rarely slept in his bed. He often passed out on the couch or on the floor. The bathtub was surprisingly comfortable. He had even woken up surrounded by broken test tubes and spilled beakers on the kitchen counter once. Just not the bed _._ He didn't want to spend his unconscious hours the exact same way that billions of people did. So, really, it wasn't surprising that for the first three months of living with John they had never been in their respective beds at the same time. Beds were so _boring._

It was also not surprising that it was another year before Sherlock noticed that the combination of wall and ceiling that separated him from John's room were very thin. The first time Sherlock heard John masturbate he disregarded it. It was a natural part of human nature, or so Sherlock understood. He had never seen the appeal, and after one half-hearted attempt when he was sixteen he had never attempted self-manipulation again. And so hearing John touching himself did not register anything other than _Ordinary: boring_ in his mind palace.

Then there was the fiasco that was Baskerville. After nearly ruining his chance with his friend - _his one friend_ \- Sherlock determined to pay more attention to John. Not the small things, of course. Who cared if John didn't take sugar in his tea, or if he liked chicken more than pork? Sherlock wanted to pay attention to the things that were important to John. And, for some reason, that seemed to be his emotions. So Sherlock noticed. John got sad on those murder cases that involved children and was forced to take deeper breaths to calm himself. And he was happy after a long day of running around London when his smile involved a few more teeth. And his eyebrows showed a touch of pity whenever Jeremy Kyle announced that  _You are not the father._ And one particularly long week when John's shoulders were hunched and his muscles were tense Sherlock began to get concerned. He didn't like to see his friend stressed and so resolved to intervene in any way he could. However, the next day John had seemed to relax and settle back into his normal life. It didn't take Sherlock long to connect the dots and he aborted his intervention plan and was content.

The next time Sherlock heard John masturbate was much later. Years later. After the fall and after the return. After Mary had lied to John and John had decided to move back in with his _best_ friend.

Sherlock had been concerned again. John was clearly unhappy. He was depressed and angry and most of all stressed. Then one night, when Sherlock happened to decide to sleep in his bed, he heard a few soft sighs coming from the room above his. He smiled knowing that his friend would be feeling better the next day. Without making the decision to, he found himself listening to John. Sherlock had closed his eyes and let his mind palace take over. Every unfamiliar stroking sound was pieced together in his brain to form a picture of his friend. He could tell the tempo and pressure of each pass as the sound of flesh on flesh ebbed in and out. Smalls gasps and grunts let him picture John's mouth moving, almost silently. Small creaks in the springs of John's mattress informed Sherlock when John began to thrust his hips in tandem with his hand. And when, a few minutes later, there was one last grunt and the faintest sound of wetness, Sherlock's heart lightened. His friend, his one and only best friend, would be feeling happy and relaxed at that very moment, and that was what Sherlock cared about most. He fell asleep that night content and smiling.


End file.
